Portrait of the Dead
by Yuki Scorpio
Summary: A dying man asked Niou, a painter of the dead, to paint his portrait. It seemed a simple request, but was there more to it?


The door shut behind Niou, blocking out the noise of the people in the main hall. It was nothing that he hadn't seen before. Over the years, his reaction had changed from shock to distaste to indifference. What surprised him was what he saw in the room.

"Master Yagyuu."

"Thank you. You may leave."

The servant who showed Niou in put down the easel he had helped Niou carry and left him with the owner of the great estate. Niou looked around the room first. It was a study, elegantly furnished. There were some interesting books on the shelves. Tasteful wallpaper, with a pattern that didn't have the in-your-face type of extravagance. This sort of detail said a lot about the owner of the mansion, who was a young man around Niou's age, currently sitting near the bookcases, one leg crossed over the other.

"You've got the wrong guy." Finished with surveying the surroundings, Niou said finally.

"No. You are exactly who I want." The man rose from his chair and walked over. He held out his hand, long fingers slightly apart. "Yagyuu Hiroshi."

Niou didn't move. "Niou Masaharu. I - "

"I am aware. I want you to paint my portrait."

The hand stayed. Niou stared at it for a while, then things clicked. Someone this young and healthy-looking? The world was always full of surprises. "This," he put down his bag and shook Yagyuu's hand, "would be the first time I shake hands with my subject."

Yagyuu's hand was warm. Niou hadn't touched anyone in any way for long enough he'd forgotten what body heat felt like.

"Nobody ever commissioned you beforehand?"

"People have other things to worry about at that sort of time."

Yagyuu nodded in understanding. "Shall we start?"

Niou felt lost for a while - this job was too different from the norm - but once he got into the flow of things he knew what he should do. He got Yagyuu to sit near a window, where the light was the best, then arranged his own set up to suit, brushes and paints laid out on a small desk he had pulled over, using layers of cloth to separate the tools from the furniture he knew he could not afford to damage.

"I don't get to do this much," he said by way of explanation as he adjusted the height of the easel just several feet away from Yagyuu. This would be a close-up portrait, from the shoulders up.

"Do what?"

"Spend time to set up."

"I see."

"Mind if I ask how long I get to paint you?"

"I cannot answer that question," Yagyuu said calmly. "But I would rather this not be a hurried job."

Well, if Niou didn't finish before the day, at least he would have enough to work on. He could paint someone in half a day if he had to.

He squeezed reds, browns and yellows onto the palette. "Right. _Now_ we start."

* * *

At the end of the day, Niou stepped back from his canvas. "The light's no good anymore. Tomorrow I'll come and start earlier."

Yagyuu stretched elegantly, then walked towards the easel. Niou picked up the canvas. "People don't... you sure you want to see this?"

"Of course I do."

With a shrug, Niou put the canvas down. Yagyuu stepped around the easel to see the day's work. It was him, of course. Hair that naturally looked perfect, glasses perched on the bridge of the nose, thin, non-smiling lips. The tension in the jaw, the prideful air, a fierceness in the eyes. That was the face Yagyuu saw in the mirror.

"That is... extremely fast of you."

Niou was going to explain it was a skill necessary for those who painted the dead, but he figured maybe Yagyuu didn't want to be reminded of that. The man was paying him, so he better be careful with what he said. "It's just a mockup to test the colours. I'll start a fresh one tomorrow."

"I like your work. Thank you."

Niou managed a small smile. Compliments and thanks weren't things he was used to. Yagyuu seemed to have spotted that unease.

"Is it hard work, painting the dead?"

Hands paused in the middle of cleaning the brushes. "Most things in life is hard work," said Niou. He hadn't thought Yagyuu would want to talk about it. "Somebody's got to do it."

The answer seemed to satisfy Yagyuu. "Please come again tomorrow."

* * *

The place was much more peaceful the next day. Niou arrived soon after breakfast time.

"Quiet today."

"I sent my relatives away on some errands. They will do whatever pleases me."

Yes, Niou had seen families like those before. But he refrained from saying what he really thought. "How lovely of them."

"It is a bit late for them to be nice, but they are useful."

Niou poked his head around the canvas and saw Yagyuu smiling gently. He arched an eyebrow. "So you know."

"That they are merely after my inheritance? Yes. It is hard not to hear them arguing and threatening each other even from this room," Yagyuu said, not moving an inch. "You must see that often?"

Niou ignored the question for the time being - he wasn't used to working and talking at the same time. In fact, he wasn't used to being talked to. Turning his attention back to the canvas, he blocked out the tones first, yellows and reds and, after some hesitation, whites too. He didn't use white often - nothing was ever truly white, just as nothing was ever black - but there was a translucence to Yagyuu's looks that required the colour. Not as in Yagyuu could be easily seen through, but... perhaps it was innocence? Or some kind of longing? Something hidden even deeper behind that carefully-disguised tension, a shadow of the shadow. It felt familiar, as if Niou knew this shadow, or something inside himself was resonating with it.

He started, wondered what he was thinking, and decided to answer the question despite not being aware how much time had passed since it was asked.

"There have been times when relatives argued about how to interpret the will in the room where the dead lay."

Yagyuu frowned ever so slightly. "That must be distracting."

"You learn to block it out. It's only for a few hours anyway." Niou muttered quietly.

Quick in, quick out. The face changes within the first few hours of death. Niou's job was to capture what people looked like when they were alive - a time that had already passed. Deaths were sometimes sudden, so Niou was always ready to work at a moment's notice, to paint the faces of strangers as if he knew them intimately in life. As for those who knew they were dying, they would rather spend their remaining time doing other things, not sit and have their portraits painted.

"You don't need to sit there the whole time," said Niou. "I can work from memory and just check details with you every now and then."

"Do I look busy?"

"I assume you'd have other things to do."

"I don't."

Niou peeked over the edge of the canvas and stared. Staring was not a problem with this job. But it seemed like Yagyuu could tell Niou was looking at him because of what he said, not because Niou was painting his portrait.

Niou retreated behind the safety of the canvas. "Fair enough."

Yagyuu crossed one leg over another. "Everything has been taken care of, and there is nothing I wish to be doing."

"Nothing at all?"

"No."

Niou stopped himself from making a comment.

* * *

A generous slice of quiche, with garden salad on the side. Selection of red and black teas. And Yagyuu sitting opposite him.

"You don't like the food?"

Niou picked up his fork. "No, it looks great."

"If you want to eat something else, just tell any of the servants."

"Right."

Slow minutes passed. Niou ate as quickly as he could, unusually self-conscious. Yagyuu watched him with undisguised interest.

"What seems to be the matter?"

Niou wiped his mouth. "Nothing."

Yagyuu's looks turned a little serious. "In a sense, you are my guest. If you are uncomfortable I feel obliged to change that."

There he was, the slightly darker side of Yagyuu, one that Niou saw behind tightly-pressed lips and narrow eyes when he stood at the easel. In his lifetime Niou had seen many people, dead and alive, and he had seen them at their most vulnerable moments. Or their ugliest moments. By working with the dead, Niou knew the living. And this one in front of him was both vulnerable and ugly and so ready to die he wanted nothing from life anymore. Perhaps he was looking for things to make important for now.

Niou chose to play along. "You can't not know about the taboos."

Yagyuu relaxed and smiled. "Pointless superstitions. I don't care about them."

"I haven't eaten at the same table with anyone for more than ten years." Niou watched Yagyuu's eyes widen. "Feels weird, that's all."

"Do people really..."

"Avoid me like the plague? Hmm." Niou poured some milk into his cup, followed by tea and a lump of sugar. "Well, not quite. People talk to me when they must. They don't talk to the plague."

Yagyuu digested this, his face carefully smoothed over. "If my questions were too personal, I apologise."

Niou chuckled over the brim of his cup. Personal. Nobody ever dared to get personal with him before, so this was an interesting change. And what did he have that he couldn't tell a dying man? Nothing at all.

He gave his best social smile - being sociable was not a part of his life - and saw Yagyuu smile back. Personal was perfectly fine.

* * *

The things Niou knew about Yagyuu, from listening to the man and his arguing relatives, were these: Yagyuu was going to die; there were people wishing he would die sooner; nobody had seen Yagyuu's will.

"Not a popular person, are you." A servant had come by with a fresh pot of tea. When the door opened briefly, Niou could hear someone say they had to find out what was in the will.

"Popularity is overrated," Yagyuu said. "In this family, it's about survival of the fittest." He paused, smirked, and added, "and who gets the last laugh."

Niou liked the sound of that. "Want me to paint a big smirk on this?"

"I wouldn't object to it." Yagyuu chuckled.

"Really?"

"Just paint what you see."

"If that's really what you want, sure."

"You probably already see me better than anyone else."

Niou knew he was meant to hear that, but he was not meant to reply. He stepped back from his work, looked at Yagyuu, his head cocked to one side. "Want to see how it looks so far?"

On the canvas, Yagyuu's face was taking shape, but not yet defined, as if he was hidden behind misted glass. Niou didn't have the habit of showing people unfinished work - not that his job really presented that chance anyway - but Yagyuu was interested, so why not?

Yagyuu went to stand beside Niou, silent for a moment. Then very quietly he asked, "how do you do that?"

"Hmm?"

"Paint like this. I have had lessons, but the teacher considered me a lost cause."

"I do it for a living; it's the only thing I'm good at." Niou didn't answer honestly because he didn't want to say painting Yagyuu felt natural and easy. He chose to ask his own question instead. "Why do you want a portrait? If you don't do superstitions or traditions, then you don't need one."

"Why..." Yagyuu let the question hang in the air for a while, his eyes still on the unfinished painting, but somewhat unfocused. "I guess one of the reasons is that I would like to have control of exactly how others will remember me."

"Part of 'having the last laugh'?"

"Yes."

Niou snorted.

"Also, I think I am changing my mind. Looking at this, I can believe it is a portal that takes me to afterlife."

"Hmm."

"Do you believe in it, as a painter for the dead?"

"Honestly? No." When Yagyuu looked at him, Niou shrugged. "Nobody's going to paint me after I die. So where will I go?"

"Yet you choose to do this work anyway, despite what it does to your life?"

"I didn't choose." Niou gestured for Yagyuu to sit down again. He picked up a clean brush and studied the bristles, running them on the back of his hand. "I was born with white hair. People decided I was either a demon or at least cursed. Tried to kill me in creative ways. Won't bore you with my life story, but like I said, painting the dead's the only thing I can do. A sort of middleman between life and death."

Yagyuu didn't say anything, but Niou could guess what his next question was.

"In this country, once you get a label slapped on you you can't get it off. Don't think I haven't tried my damn hardest. Shaving my head got tedious. Might as well grow it out; it brings me business."

"If you can't beat it, use it to your advantage."

"Mmm hmm. For a given value of 'advantage'."

"I get called a demon quite often. But for different reasons."

"In that case," Niou snorted again, picked up the palette and dipped the brush into the paint, "I hope I can get you to where you belong in the afterlife."

* * *

The servant, who kept himself well away from Niou and did not look at him at all, told him to wait because Master Yagyuu had a guest. Niou sat down on his own and nodded off until Yagyuu and a tall man appeared. Yagyuu was personally showing his guest out.

"Thank you for coming."

"Take care. I will ring you later about the progress." The tall man gave Yagyuu a hug, then accepted the coat a servant was holding for him. When he noticed Niou, though, he stopped completely, his gaze almost rudely fixed on Niou for a few moments before shifting onto Yagyuu. They smiled at each other as if they just exchanged a secret, then the tall man left.

Niou picked up his bag and followed Yagyuu to the study.

"Uncle Renji is the only good man left in the family. But he doesn't want the estate. There is nothing belonging to this family that he wants."

Niou arched an eyebrow at the random piece of information.

"This family is cursed for the things it has done," Yagyuu whispered when the door closed behind him. "Only he and I understand that."

Niou wasn't sure what he should say. "I thought you don't believe in curses."

"For my own family, I do."

"Hmm." Niou laid his things out. He didn't want to sound dismissive, but what could he say about something he knew nothing about?

"You look tired today."

That was a first - someone paying attention to how he looked. "Got work last night at the other end of town." Niou noticed he forgot to clean the paint from his fingers. Red covered his fingertips, as if they had been dipped in blood. "Young guy, my age, died from some stupid accident."

It was the kind of stupid accident that bashed the head half open. The widow lit all the candles she had for Niou to work, but couldn't look at her dead husband herself, and just sat there staring at Niou for hours, as if waiting for him to perform a miracle. He did his best to work out what the face looked like from the half that wasn't damaged. This was the kind of work he hated the most - not trying to make out the face of the dead, but having to listen to the living's pain.

"You should rest then. We aren't in any hurry," said Yagyuu. He left his spot by the window, looking concerned.

"Don't need to. I do this all the time." Niou shrugged. "And I've been looking forward to painting a living guy again and taking my time with it."

"You can do that after a nap."

"Don't worry. I won't muck it up."

"I am not worried about that." Yagyuu grasped Niou's arm gently. "Come with me."

They went up one floor and passed through long corridors. Yagyuu's hand didn't let go, as if he was worried Niou would run away. He led him to a room that didn't look like a guest room. Niou stopped at the door, his brows furrowing.

"You could take it as the strange behaviour of a dying man, or I could make up some story about a lost twin whom I desperately miss." Yagyuu finally lowered his hand. "I'd like you to rest here."

"This is your room."

"If you would rather go elsewhere, that is fine. I say this with all sincerity."

Something in Yagyuu's eyes convinced Niou to step through the door. For the first time in his life, somebody had invited him into their space. Why should he say no to that? What could Yagyuu do to him?

Well, many things. Yagyuu had admitted that he was seen as a demon by some. But apparently Niou was one, too. He couldn't find a reason to be afraid.

Yagyuu's bed was the softest, warmest bed he had ever slept in in his life.

* * *

It was completely dark outside. Niou lay in bed, listening to the night. He should get up, but he really didn't want to. He was so relaxed he felt like he was floating, it was a kind of comfort he didn't know existed, yet felt so familiar.

There wasn't a single sound in the house, so it must be very late now. Yagyuu hadn't come to wake him up. Perhaps he had but Niou didn't hear him, since he still felt exhausted. Maybe it was because of the relaxation draining all the tension within him. Had he been drugged? What did Yagyuu intend to do with him? Why was he still not afraid when he really should be?

There were footsteps, then someone knocked on the door. Yagyuu entered, noting that Niou had woken up. "Would you like something to eat?"

Niou pushed himself up on an elbow. "You could have woke me earlier."

"I have been on the phone with Uncle Renji; he is helping me channel my money away. Then I worked on making my family think they are getting something from me. It kept me busy."

"Working hard to make sure they'll spit on your grave when you're dead?"

"Exactly."

"For someone in your situation, you are having too much of a good time." A thought came to Niou at this moment. "Are you really dying?"

Yagyuu sat down not far from the bed. He seemed mildly amused. "Can you not tell?"

Yagyuu didn't look sick to Niou. But what did he know? He wasn't a doctor. "You could be doing all this just to wind your family up."

"Whatever you think about me, I would still like you to finish my portrait."

That wasn't the point, but they both knew that so Niou didn't point it out.

"Anyway, I came to check if you wanted anything to eat."

That reminded Niou he was still in Yagyuu's bed. He got up. "No, and I should - "

Yagyuu interrupted before Niou could finish. "If you don't mind," he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose a little, his hand covering half his face, "I would like to invite you to stay."

Niou gaped.

"I know it is an unreasonable request. It won't be for very long, just to finish my portrait and talk with me in the meanwhile. There are very few people I can talk with these days."

Yagyuu was still half a stranger, but the closest stranger to Niou in a world where Niou was the stranger. Yagyuu might also be dying. And the bed was soft.

His hands were clean. Somebody - Yagyuu, since no one else ever dared to touch him - had cleaned the blood-like paint from them as he slept.

"...Okay."

* * *

Yagyuu told his visiting relatives that he was very tired and wished to be left alone. The group vanished in an instant, much to Niou's amusement. The mansion was peaceful once more. Yagyuu told a maid to prepare some tea, then retreated back to the study with Niou.

"It's like watching a play, isn't it?" Yagyuu went to the easel, studying Niou's work. "Is this finished?"

"Not yet." Something was missing from the portrait, but Niou hadn't figured out what yet. Perhaps he simply wasn't used to painting the living? "And I've never watched a play."

"You have not missed out on much. They're exactly like what you just saw - noise. But we could go and see one, if you'd like."

Niou hesitated. Yagyuu turned to him, it seemed like he had thought of something, and took a step back, looking somewhat appalled.

"I have absolutely no designs on you, if that is what you're worried about. Though I guess I do appear suspicious."

That made Niou double over and laugh - he hadn't actually thought of it. Why would anybody ever have _designs_ on him? He didn't even know if it did look like he was being wooed.

"No," Niou forced the words out, gasping for breath and trying to stop laughing, "even you'd know better than to take me out." He wiped away a tear, and burst into laughter again when Yagyuu arched his eyebrows. "And I'm not allowed into playhouses."

"You're not?"

"No. But who wants to dress up in ridiculous garb just to watch people make noise anyway?" Niou looked down at himself. His plain shirt and trousers were just fine for him. More things to do meant more to worry about, more rules to follow. "There are lots of things I can't do, but you don't miss what you don't know."

After a brief pause, Yagyuu's response was a bitter smile. "Is that so?"

"It's what I say."

"Are there things that you miss?"

Niou did tell Yagyuu he didn't mind personal, but his laughter was a shaky one. He didn't know how to answer, how to describe that gaping hole inside that followed him all his life. It wasn't "you don't miss what you don't know", but "you don't know what you miss".

"I don't know. Women, maybe? Even whores run away from me; you really don't want to know what that feels like. I'd say family but I don't know if I want one. You obviously have no love for yours."

Realising what Niou was doing - pushing the conversation back at him - Yagyuu breathed out deeply, almost sighing. "No, I cannot say I have. They are cold-blooded beasts. The ugliest, filthiest people I know. Although," he suddenly smiled, "I am really in no position to comment. The ones you have met... are the ones I decided to let live."

The meaning of what Yagyuu said before suddenly became crystal clear. "Survival of the fittest," Niou muttered.

The smile stayed on Yagyuu's lips, fierce and sad at the same time. "I don't know how they expected me to react once I found out what they had done. Perhaps they thought I was just like them. And they were right, in a sense - I could be just as cruel. They brought me up that way."

"You..."

"Are you afraid?"

Yes. No. Yes, but. "What did they do?"

"They took away from me something more precious than my own life."

A maid knocked and entered, bringing tea with her. The conversation broke off.

Maybe this was why the portrait felt incomplete, Niou thought.

* * *

Yagyuu was struggling. Suffering. Niou suddenly realised this, although he didn't know how. On the outside, Yagyuu didn't look any different, but pain was eating at him. Yagyuu was going to die.

* * *

Niou went to Yagyuu's room, because that was the room he was told to use. Yagyuu followed him. Maybe Yagyuu did have designs on him. Niou didn't think that was a bad thing. If Yagyuu wanted, he was willing.

It was pitch black outside, but the room was brightly lit. For the first time in the long while, Niou saw his own reflection in the window; mirrors were extremely expensive items he didn't own. A familiar face looked back at him, skin pale, hair white, shoulders slouching. Behind him with brown hair, pale skin, straight back and shoulders, was Yagyuu.

Niou looked again.

He started to tremble.

Yagyuu embraced him, kissed his lips.

All he could think was, _finally_.

* * *

He felt the moment Yagyuu died in his arms. Niou got up, got the canvas and paints from the study, and finished the portrait.

He rang Renji on the phone after finding the number in Yagyuu's address book. Renji arrived about an hour later, entering through the door Niou left open for him, and went straight to Yagyuu's room. Niou gave him the painting.

Renji smiled when he saw Yagyuu's peaceful smile.

"The servants, they all sleep in a different building?" Niou asked.

"Yes."

"You should go now, then."

Renji gasped. "You - "

"We have the portrait. There won't be any problems," said Niou. "Thank you, Uncle Renji."

The fire that engulfed the mansion could be seen from miles away. Renji watched the cleansing flames burn everything to the ground.

He held an oil painting in his hands. It was of a handsome young man who was proud yet vulnerable, sinful yet innocent. His hair was sandy brown, but towards the side it transformed, becoming the purest of white.

* * *

-end-

* * *


End file.
